Ellyssa fought a shiver. “We will talk about it later.”
“There will be no later.”
“They are coming. We do not have time.”
Jason dragged in a noisy breath and released it. “I’m dying.”
“You will be fine.” She tightened her hold on the pad and prepared to heft him up.
“Don’t.”
Her patience wearing thin, Ellyssa snapped, “Do you not understand? They are coming.”
“Ellyssa,” Woody said, his face sad, “let him finish.”
The corner of Jason’s dried lips curled into his a grimace, and his bottom lip split into a fresh sore. “I know I’m dying. We don’t have medicine. Leave me.”
Ellyssa shook her head. “We cannot do that.”
“You have to. I can detain them.”
She glanced at Woody and saw the debate raging behind his eyes.
“I’m dying,” Jason said, as if those two words gave all the reason in the world. And, perhaps, they did.
Jason squeezed her hand again, this time with surprising strength. He paused, swallowing. She watched his Adam’s apple struggle under his skin.
“Let me do this one last thing. Please,” Jason whispered. “Dying wish.” His lids fluttered closed, and his hand loosened its grip and slid to his side.
After all the times Ellyssa had read his mind, with his selfish, sick nature shining through, she’d never thought him capable of such an act.
Ordinary humans never ceased to amaze her with their raging emotions and turmoil. Compassion? Forgiveness? Such things went against every fiber of her upbringing, but that had been before she’d joined this family.
Ellyssa reached out and, tentatively, touched his cheek. There was no doubt Jason was dying. His mind was slowing down, the electric pulses firing weakly. Would leaving him be the most humane thing to do? In his current condition, neither the detective nor the police would bother capturing him. Wasted effort. As a matter of fact, they might think him contagious, and end his suffering more quickly.
“What do you think?” asked Woody.
Indecisive, Ellyssa nibbled on her bottom lip. “I do not know,” she responded, as she lifted her gaze to Woody. “He is dying.”
Woody smoothed out Jason’s blanket and tucked it tight under his body. “I think we should do as he requests.”
“But…”
Woody reached over and brushed her cheek. “He wants the opportunity to right his wrong.”
Ellyssa closed her eyes and nodded. “I forgive you,” she whispered. Without another word, she stood and left the room. She waited as Woody said his goodbyes.
“It was the right thing to do,” assured Woody as he entered the main tunnel. He rested his hand on her shoulder. “It was nice of you to forgive him.”
“I had to.”
His fingers trailed down her arm and found her hand. “I know—”
Ellyssa stifled his words by covering his mouth and cocked her head to the side. A soft scrape flowed through the tunnel and reached her ears. Woody stilled when she did, a hint of fear masking his features.
She placed her finger to her lips. With a flip of her hand, she motioned him to follow, and led them toward their refuge. Surprised at the ease with which Woody moved, she glided beside him, silently. If she couldn’t hear him, neither could they.
They escaped down the tunnel to the faux dead end, where Ellyssa paused to listen for footfalls. No sounds followed them, but the rustling of people echoed below her, voices, shuffling, and scraping.
“We have to get them quiet,” she whispered.
Quickly, Ellyssa slipped to the back of the passage behind the overlapping wall. Within the confines of the enclosed space, the commotion clamored. She glanced over her shoulder at Woody and motioned for him to go first. He disappeared into the hole.
By the time she emerged into the cavern, Woody was already gone, hopefully spreading the word. Soft steps whispered from the crossing passage ahead.
Trista appeared around the corner of the intersection, holding a small plastic container. Dirt smudged every bit of her skin and clothing, and her cheeks were pink from exertion. Ellyssa motioned Trista closer.
“Hi,” Trista said, oblivious to the danger. “Guess what? I’m a contender for the council.”
Ellyssa held her finger up. “Do not say anything else. Do not talk. Do not work. They are in the cave,” she said, her voice low.
The rosy color drained from Trista’s face.
“Tell the others, and tell them to stay put. Do so quietly.”
“Okay,” Trista mouthed. She turned right at the T-section, rushing toward the living quarters.
Ellyssa stayed still, listening to Trista’s footfalls. They seemed to thunder down the rocky corridor, every step sounding louder than the last. She was glad the detective’s ears weren’t as sensitive as hers.
A few moments later, the cavern quieted, until the only sound was the soft dripping of water. Ellyssa turned her attention to what lay outside the Renegades’ asylum, listening for any movement or voice from above. So far, nothing. She didn’t know whether or not that was good.
Woody rounded the corner and came to her side; his weapon was locked and loaded. “Anything?” he whispered in her ear.
Ellyssa shook her head.
Woody flipped his chin in understanding and remained still as a statue as they waited. His stealthy ability impressed her. He was a natural, and she wondered what he could’ve accomplished if he had received the same rigorous schooling she had.
Silent milliseconds stretched into the past. The waiting grated on Ellyssa’s nerves. She was unused to standing around delaying the inevitable. She wanted to act, to attack, to render the danger harmless. Doing so put the her whole family in danger.
Antsy, Ellyssa closed her eyes and lowered her shield. Community voices immediately bombarded her, shouting in her brain. Voices filled with panic and fear. Too much. Her stomach rolled, and she raised her protection, blocking the onslaught.
She opened her eyes to Woody, who was frowning, his mouth drawn quizzically to the side. She leaned closer to him.
“I am trying to get a read on her.”
He nodded.
“I will try again.”
“Try concentrating just on her. Like you did with me,” he suggested in her ear.
“That was different. There is too many voices down here.”
“You can do it,” Woody whispered. His warm breath brushed against her hair, and his whiskers rubbed against her cheek, sending a pleasant shiver reminiscent of Rein.
At the thought of Rein, Ellyssa’s heart squeezed, painfully. She missed him, his eyes, his lips, his gentle touch. Since Woody had returned, she had barely given Rein a thought. Everything had whirled into action so fast. She felt guilty, as if she’d betrayed him, by putting him aside, even though he would’ve understood. Under the same set of circumstances, he’d have done the same.
Saddened by the image of Rein and worried beyond belief, Ellyssa pulled away from Woody, her eyes on the floor. She had to do this for Rein. She had to succeed.
Pulling in a deep breath and releasing it through her nose, Ellyssa prepared herself for the assault of thoughts. Lowering her shield, she was immediately bombarded, images and words and feelings slamming into her. Her head thumped, but she didn’t care.
Rein strengthened her.
Gritting her teeth, Ellyssa’s face scrunched in concentration. Voices echoed in her mind, panicky and scared. She pictured her stone shield, and the voices faded. Stone by stone, she reconstructed her defenses, reinforcing each section. In the middle of the barrier, she placed a metal door that swiveled on hinges. The voices were immediately silenced.
In her mind’s eye, she approached the gateway and rested her palm against the cool metal. She pushed it open an inch. Thoughts rushed through, like water over a broken dam. She stepped back, letting the door swing shut.
She’d have to try another way.
&n
bsp; Ellyssa directed her focus on the female Kripo. Bit by bit Ellyssa reconstructed the detective’s face: the thin lips, the angle of the cheeks, the too-sharp nose, the hair, and the eyes, which lacked the blue of the sky. Detective Petersen’s face wavered in her psyche as the mental picture strengthened, becoming more defined, details sharpening, until it seemed as if the detective stood right in front of her.
With the image of Detective Petersen strongly in her mind, Ellyssa reached out and opened the door again. Much to her relief, the voices of the inhabitants were muffled, indistinct, and easily ignored. She slipped through the crack, directing her flow through the tunnels of the mine, down one corridor after another, searching and feeling for the distinct electrical pulse.
Her limits thinning, Ellyssa reached further, until suddenly she felt the detective. It was like hitting a wall, one second flowing, the next, an instant stop. Ellyssa clenched her jaw and fortified her connection with the detective as if joined by a wire, mind to mind. When she felt certain the link was sturdy, she opened the gate wider, and let the images flow.
Pictures poured into her quickly as if the detective’s mind was working in overdrive. One image shifted to another, as Detective Petersen’s eyes soaked in the surroundings with a high-powered flashlight. She was skittish, and every noise tweaked her senses.
Stronger emotions swirled within The Center’s employee. Deadly ones. Criminals harbored such feelings. As a new and improved citizen, the detective shouldn’t be experiencing such useless sensations; the genes responsible should have been detected.
Jealousy, shame, and resentment rolled through the detective, as if the blood in her body carried them like a disease, and the effect increased when her thoughts shifted to any of The Center’s children, especially Ellyssa. Her hatred for Ellyssa ran deep and wide, cutting a canyon through her mind.
Angela also kept thinking about the gun strapped to her ankle. Time and time again, her thoughts drifted to standing over Ellyssa, watching a pool of blood spread beneath her, turning her hair crimson.
“What was that?” a male asked, his voice clear in the detective’s head, along with his image as she turned to look at him.
The captain from Woody’s memory stood before Detective Petersen, only she now beheld a clearer picture of the man’s physique, the curvature of his lean body and the chiseled features of his face.
The detective wondered if the captain—Dyllon was apparently his name—would still have her back if the operation finished in bloodshed. She questioned his loyalty, especially after they had captured the ranger. The image of the male Ellyssa didn’t know wavered in the detective’s thoughts, beaten, bloody and dead. Dyllon had fought against the male’s torture. He just didn’t understand, his stomach too weak. Resentment for the captain bloomed within the detective.
“Shh,” she hissed.
A groan resonated in the darkness, that of a suffering animal…or a human. Something was hurt. Sweeping her flashlight in broad arcs, the detective followed the sound down one passageway into another.
Ellyssa watched as they approached the entrance to Jason’s room. She’d hoped Jason would’ve passed out from the pain and been overlooked. His groans echoed in the small enclosure.
Realizing she was powerless to stop them or help Jason, regret pulled on Ellyssa’s attention, and the barricade weakened. The voices of her newfound family banged against the imaginary wall, growing in volume as Detective Petersen’s mind began to fade.
Ellyssa couldn’t fail. Regardless of what she’d become since she’d fled, she was a soldier. Only instead of destroying lives, she was going to protect them. Steadying herself, Ellyssa reinforced the barrier. The connection with the detective strengthened.
Detective Petersen maneuvered to one side of the entrance as the captain swung to the other. Without a word, she barged in, her light arcing along the blackened walls.
Nothing.
She was about to back out when the moan, clear and loud and definitely human, sounded. Slowly, she lowered the beam onto the floor, and the wide cone of light revealed a rumpled blanket.
“Cover me,” she ordered.
Dyllon stayed in the background while she advanced, stopping whenever the lump moved. Her electroshock weapon leveled, the detective reached down and yanked the cover away.
The image of Jason filtered through, and Ellyssa immediately wished it hadn’t. Guilt consumed her, tasting sour in her mouth. Whether or not he was dying, how could she have left him?
Ellyssa wanted to pull back, to leave the toxicity of the detective’s pleasure at finding the rag of the male lying crumpled at her feet, and to erase the image of his skull-like face and the sickly hollows underlining his eyes.
Jason blinked and brought a bony hand up, trying to shield himself from the light.
“Who are you?” the detective demanded.
Jason opened and closed his mouth like a fish, as if the words he sought were just within his reach. Then, he started hacking. Pain registered on his face, while his body violently convulsed with each forceful expulsion of air.
Detective Petersen didn’t think he was ever going to stop, and wondered whether she should put an end to the wretched person. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and the wheezing sounded like liquid had filled his lungs.
Sickened, the detective pushed him with the toe of her boot. “Where are they?” she asked.
“They left me,” Jason answered, his lips barely moving.
“Where did they go?”
He said no more, but looked at her, eyes glazed, his impurity boring into her. The detective didn’t like it.
Detective Petersen pointed the electroshock weapon at him. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Where did they go?”
Jason lifted his shoulder before another coughing fit attacked. He curled over on his side.
“Have it your way.” She pressed the trigger and electrodes shot out.
Horrified, Ellyssa watched all this play out in Detective Petersen’s mind. Violent tremors rocked Jason’s body, and he squeezed into a tighter ball while his muscles seized and convulsed. Deep satisfaction filled Angela while her anger traveled down the thin wires along with the electrical current.
Even in her old life, Ellyssa had never experienced such sick pleasure. Of course, it wasn’t allowed. Just do your job and be done with it. Cold and impersonal. Detective Petersen was a different sort of creature.
The captain touched Detective Petersen’s hand. “I think he’s dead,” he said, his voice distant.
She released the button. The body stopped convulsing.
“He’s dead,” he repeated.
Jason’s stilled eyes were locked on the detective. Long strings of bloody saliva stretched from his mouth. His body still twitched, as if his nerve endings hadn’t received the message yet.
“Of course,” she said, backing away.
Dyllon knelt and pulled the blanket over the dead man’s face. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”
“We’ll send a team in with the right equipment.”
Dyllon stood and walked toward her, the light circling him as if he was a saint. “What now?”
“Doctor Hirch wants to meet our prisoner. Maybe then he will talk.” Detective Petersen closed her eyes, blanking out any further images. She spoke, but not with her mouth. Come and get him, bitch.
Rein, thought Ellyssa.
Ellyssa broke the connection and opened her eyes. “Jason is dead,” she said, leaning close to Woody’s ear.
He nodded, expecting as much.
“A search team is going to be dispatched. They will do a more thorough job of checking the caves.”
“I understand.”
“Everyone needs to be moved to the very back. Armed watches must be kept at all times. Make sure everyone stays quiet. No talking at all.”
Woody looked skeptical. “You can tell them this yourself.”
Ellyssa shook her head. “Rein is still alive, and they are takin
g him to The Center. I am going after him.”
“That will be for the council to decide.”
“I am going,” she said, her tone determined.
Woody grasped her arm. “Wait. Let’s talk to the council first, prepare them for what’s coming.”
“And?”
“I’m going with you.”
“You will serve better here.”
“You’re wrong. There are contacts in Chicago. I can help.”
“I cannot let you do that, Woody.”
Woody stepped toward her. “Rein is like a brother to me. He’s the last of my family. I’m going with you.”
Ellyssa didn’t want Woody’s death on her conscience, and it was very possible he would die, most likely with her at his side. Then again, the Resistance might provide an easier way into the city.
“Fine,” she reluctantly agreed.
36
Angela Petersen watched the sleeping prisoner. Rein was a mess. His clothes were torn and tattered and hung from him like rags. His dark hair was matted, and dried trails of crimson left winding paths from his hairline to his jaw and down his neck. Both eyes were bruised purple and black.
His chin rested on his chest, and his head rocked gently back and forth with the motion of the train. He looked uncomfortable, with his arms cuffed to a bar above his head and his ankles chained to one beneath the seat, yet he slept.
Angela admired the man, though. He had grit. Even after her brutality, Rein had peered at her through swollen lids, their piercing green filled with defiant animosity. If not for Dyllon, she would’ve knocked him hard enough to shut his eyes permanently. The captain’s heart was too soft, and lacked the fortitude necessary to perform the tasks needed to extract information. Such relentlessness took a special type of person. A person like her.
And to think, Dyllon had almost tainted her thinking with his style of policing—forming bonds and such. What a sucker she’d been.
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